


pinkish

by ephemeralgrime



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Dom/sub, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Spanking, canon-typical but extremely conspicuous use of the word 'papa'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28005675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralgrime/pseuds/ephemeralgrime
Summary: Aether's good at doing what he's told.
Relationships: Aether | Quintessence Ghoul/Cardinal Copia
Comments: 15
Kudos: 54





	pinkish

**Author's Note:**

> look. listen. i- yeah, i don't have an excuse for this one. enjoy!
> 
> beta'd, as always, by the peerless [@backwards-blackbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Backwards_Blackbird/pseuds/Backwards_Blackbird), who puts up with all the silly ships i send her and snips out all my em dashes with laser precision. 
> 
> title from the gerard way song. sorry gerard.

“Come here, Aether.” 

Aether’s good at doing what he’s told. It’s quiet in Copia’s quarters as he walks forward on bare feet, padding softly on polished wood. Copia sits at the end of the bed, a tumbler dangerously close to his nice white sheets. Waiting, smiling. 

He’s got two buttons at his collar undone, Aether notices, looking at the flushed peek of skin below his collarbone, all pink and clean-looking where the white paint ends. It's still early days since his ascendance, and the victory and triumph is still fresh enough that he’s usually in his robes instead. It feels like Aether shouldn’t be looking at him in a simple button-down, and he especially shouldn’t be examining the little V-shaped patch of hair on his chest curling over his collar. It only makes him want to look more. 

Copia catches him staring and smiles, slow and easy, preening a little. Ever the showman. His bare feet tap at the floor a little, casual as anything. He doesn't even have his gloves on. 

Aether stands in front of him and waits, ready for the long haul, because part of this is the waiting. Like not opening a gift, or how water tastes _so much_ better when you’re thirsty. Drawing something out to make it sweeter. Copia’s made him wait long minutes before; half an hour once, on his knees, until his legs trembled. But Copia’s already shifting and leaning towards him, like maybe he’s a little impatient tonight, too. 

“Hm, a bit closer, I think.” Copia slips a finger in one of Aether’s belt loops and tugs. Like a marionette on a string, Aether goes where he’s beckoned, right into the space between his open legs. 

Copia’s hand goes to his suspenders first, fingering the metal buckle there, but mostly just feeling Aether up. Without warning, he pulls it back and lets it snap against Aether’s chest. 

Aether rubs his chest where it stings. “Ow.” 

“Forgive me. I couldn’t resist.” Copia pulls Aether’s hands away and kisses them each before placing them at his sides.

“Keep them there, please,” he says gently. He’s usually like this at the beginning, all sweet and gentle, but even the suggestion of an order makes Aether’s stomach go hot and tight. He curls his hands into fists obediently as Copia slides off his left suspender, then the right, letting them fall over Aether’s arms and hang limp at his sides. 

Copia tips back his glass and finishes his drink. His eyes don’t leave Aether’s. It makes him shiver. 

“Take your shirt off,” Copia says softly, setting down his empty glass on the nightstand with a little _clink_. "Slowly. A button at a time."

“Is there any other way to take off a shirt?” Aether grouses, but it’s a bad play, because his hands are already fumbling for the first button, clumsy and eager.

“So mouthy. I could spank you for that,” Copia says, all serious, like that’s not the whole plan. Aether doesn’t miss the smile tucked in the corner of his mouth. It’s hidden in all that paint, but he can spot it lurking between the sharp edges. 

Aether likes every version of him, but this one is his favorite. Secret and private, just like his smile. This Copia is just for him.

Aether follows his instructions, feeling his pulse in the palms of his hands as he slides each button through its hole, starting at the top and working his way down. He keeps his eyes down, but he doesn’t need to look up to hear Copia’s inhale as his bare chest appears. 

Shy, delicate pride blooms in him like a flower.

Copia’s a bit closer to the edge of his bed now, watching intently and carefully, eyes liquid. When Aether finishes, Copia tugs at his loose sleeves until his shirt slips off and falls to the floor. He likes this, Aether has figured out; letting the fine, starched abbey garments fall to the ground in a heap. Smearing the crisp edges of his paint against the insides of Aether's thighs. Ruining something perfect, just a little.

When Copia looks up at Aether, pressing a thumb to the inside of his wrist, his smile is so _achingly_ , painfullyfond that Aether wants to sink down to his knees and do anything he asks just to see it again. 

But he hasn’t gotten permission, so he stays still. He even permits Copia to skate a hand up his stomach, right where he's the most ticklish.

“These too, I think.” Copia’s pointer finger taps the button of Aether’s slacks. _Tap tap._ Almost gentlemanly, like he’s using a door knocker, which almost makes Aether laugh to think about, except now Copia's using his finger to trace down his zipper. 

Aether feels his tail twitch behind him in a jerking motion. It’s like his body, with nowhere else to safely put it, has funnelled all his restless pent-up energy there. He catches Copia watching it with amusement in his eyes. Aether flushes; he doesn’t have _a tell_ , he’s a whole Aether-shaped collection of tells, and all Copia has to do is knock and see who’s home to fill up a whole bingo card with them. 

But he obeys, sliding the zipper down slowly. He’s not the type to put on a show—he’s not _Swiss_ , after all—but he can draw it out a little. Intentionally prolong it, because he knows Copia likes to savor things. Rich food and fine wine; the moment of his ascendance, surrounded by holy light and swallowed by the love of the crowd; the bodies of his lovers. Sometimes Aether’s body in particular. 

Aether steps out of his slacks.

He resists the urge to cup his hands over himself, because yeah, this is already doing it for him. He feels... swollen. Tumescent. A little easy, maybe, standing here with his dick hard in his boxers, just waiting. 

Copia cocks his head a little, looking at him warmly. Then he reaches out a bare hand and squeezes him once through the fabric. 

“Ah,” Aether says dumbly, feeling his toes curl in the carpet. Copia’s touch is light, and it doesn’t even feel like all that much besides pressure, but it makes Aether close his eyes in relief, feeling a kick drum in his heart.

“So quiet, Aether,” Copia says gently. “Will you be like this all night? I hope not.” 

Aether exhales. “Not if you give me a reason to be loud.” It comes out a little uncertain and loose around the sleeves, like he’s playing dress-up with someone else’s attitude. He’s never had quite enough vinegar in him to be a brat. 

Copia makes a coughing sound, which Aether knows well, because it’s what he does when he’s trying his hardest not to laugh. Sometimes that’s nice—when the tension breaks a little, and Copia’s mask slips, and Aether lets him leave smeared black kisses all over his chest and mouth while they sink into something a little easier. 

But not tonight. Copia schools his features back to something resembling serious and snaps the band of Aether's boxers, whip-fast and admonishing. Aether jumps a little, because _ow,_ that’s right where his skin is thin and sensitive against his hip bones—but he presses his lips together in a flat line to make sure he doesn’t say anything else. 

Copia’s fingertips linger around the elastic waistband for a moment before they return to his lap. “Take them off,” he says. 

Aether does. He lets them fall to the ground with the rest of his garments until he’s standing bare and hard before Copia. He can’t remember if he’s supposed to have his hands at his slides or behind his back and ends up letting them hang self-consciously somewhere in between. 

"You are _incredible_ ," Copia says leaning in, and he may as well be leading a sermon, because that’s the same voice he uses when talking about the Unholy Father, but leveled at _Aether_. He leans forward to slide his hands firmly up the backs of Aether’s thighs, giving his ass a little squeeze while he’s there. "Look at you. He made you in His image."

They’ve done this enough times for Aether to be able to bear this—to not shy away, not tuck his chin into his chest and feel the blush reach all the way to the tip of his ears—but just barely. It’s hard not to burn just a little from a flame held so close to your skin. The force of Copia’s attention is like an act of God, and Aether just has to weather it. 

"Oh, don't be so bashful,” Copia says, still rubbing his hands up the backs of his legs, and he’s so close that Aether can _feel_ it on the damp tip of his cock when he exhales. Copia flicks his eyes up to him. His white eye looks so stark against the black makeup, even more so now with the rest of the white around it, too. “You know how you look."

“How's that?” Aether asks, hovering somewhere between shy and proud, expecting to earn a swat for it.

Copia _tsks. “Well_ , now you're just fishing.” He pulls back, rearranging himself on the edge of the bed a little, widening the opening of his legs to make space for Aether. “Come here. Across my lap.”

Aether was worried, the first time, that he might hurt him. It’s hard not to be aware of your own body like this, spread out and draped over someone else, and human bodies are terrifyingly prone to breaking and bruising in ways that ghoul bodies aren’t. But Copia is practiced and stronger than he looks, and he’s got Aether positioned so that he’s part of the way on the bed, and it’s about as comfortable as it can be when he’s spread out there like this. 

He lies there on his belly, waiting. 

“You have," Aether shivers a little as Copia cups him, squeezing both cheeks, spreading him open just a little. “The most incredible ass. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Aether pretends to think about it. “It may have come up once or twice."

“Don't be bratty,” Copia says, scolding, pinching him a little - not enough to really hurt, just to make him flinch.

“ _Ow_. Dewdrop's a bad influence.” 

“I’m glad we can both agree on that." Copia says, but he almost sounds a little distracted. Aether feels him place his hands very carefully at his sides, kind of like he can't trust himself to touch Aether more directly just yet.

It’s quiet for a moment. There’s just the sound of Aether’s breathing and blood rushing in his head, like he’s pressed his ear to a shell. 

“May I?" Copia asks after a pause, all casual and polite, like he's just asked to hold the door open for Aether. His bare hand is resting on his ass now, and his thumb stroking the skin there softly, sort of idly, like Aether he doesn’t have a lap full of naked Aether in front of him. 

"Yes." Aether's voice is steady, but his heart seems to have crept its way into his throat. The anticipation—the not knowing—is half of it for him. He feels like the perfect smooth surface of the lake, about to ripple under a skipping rock, but he doesn't know when.

"Yes what?" Copia's hand hasn't stopped moving. His thumb brushes the base of Aether's tail, and Aether feels a shiver in his gut, like someone just tugged a string tied to something deep in his belly.

Aether tries to glance behind him, but he can't really see Copia that well from where he's spread across his legs. "Yes... please?" he tries.

For a moment, he feels nothing. Then there's the brief absence of Copia's hand, and the sharp cracking pain of a _smack_ , landing right on the meat of his ass cheek.

Aether lets out more of a grunt than anything else, inelegant and surprised, even though he knew it was coming. The pain fades quickly, but his body's already fighting him, instinctively drawing away. Copia's already bringing his hand down again for another slap.

“Yes, _Papa._ ” Copia corrects, smacking him open-palmed and sharp on the other cheek for emphasis.

"Yes, _Papa_ ," Aether bites out. It’s already starting to sting. He wonders, dangerously, what would happen if he called him _Cardinal_ right now.

As though he can sense what he’s thinking, Copia spanks him hard three times in a row, right where his ass meets his upper thigh. Aether feels like his whole body rocks forward with it, thighs clenching tight.

It's burning now - high, stinging pain, that feeling of getting too close to fire. Aether feels the same ache grow sharply between his legs as Copia just _keeps going_ , until Aether loses count, and he’s making high bitten-off _Ah! Ah! Ah!_ sounds that seem to be coming out of him entirely without his permission. Copia stops momentarily while Aether slumps forward, waiting for his brain to turn back on. 

“Oh,” Copia says reverently, cupping his cheeks, pushing them together, like he’s framing his work. “Look at you. You’re all pink.”

Ghouls have red blood, too, and it takes a little more work to get gray skin to blush, but Copia is nothing if not a hard worker. Aether knows it must be starting to show now: a rosy patch of color, blossoming all hot and splotchy, right where he’s the thickest.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he bites out when Copia starts to spank him again, imagining what it looks like for him. A lapful of his ass, getting pinker and hotter. 

Copia lets him look, sometimes, when the marks are red and fresh. If they position the mirrors right, he can watch. 

But tonight, he’s staring at his hands clenching and unclenching in the comforter as Copia lands another smack. Sweat gathers in the crooks of his elbows and his knees now, like the heat’s got nowhere else to go and is spilling over to the rest of his body. 

"Okay?" Copia asks then, a bit ragged at the edges. Aether can’t see, but he imagines Copia’s started sweating at his temples, his hair there gone damp with exertion. It's longer these days, curling over his ears and the back of his neck. It makes him look a little wild. 

“Okay." Aether’s breathing is shallow, but steady. He feels the absence of Copia's palm again, and wonders if maybe he's shaking out his hand a little. The idea that Copia has to hurt himself a little to make Aether hurt, too, makes him want to squeeze his thighs together. 

When Copia touches him again, he just scratches at him a little with blunt nails, getting the pain sparking again in a different way, and Aether writhes beneath him, trying not to curl up like paper held to a flame. 

"You like it when I hurt you like this." Copia says. He eases up slowly until he’s just stroking, sort of petting his skin. It’s not a question, but Aether knows he’s supposed to answer.

"Yes," Aether says softly.

"It makes you hard."

His face burns. "Yes." 

"Tell me what you like about it,” Copia says conversationally, rubbing the knuckle of one of his fingers down his tail.

"Papa," Aether protests weakly, feeling his stomach clench in shame. “Don’t make me—”

“I'll tell you what I like," Copia interrupts, rubbing the spade tip of his tail between his fingers. "Would that be easier?”

“Yes.”

“I like to see how red you get. I like that you let yourself lie here and take it. You could overpower me so easily, but you don’t.” His hand is creeping up higher now, sliding back up his tail. “I like to watch you squirm over how much you enjoy it."

A finger brushes over Aether’s hole. Aether groans in relief, letting his head fall forward, already trying to push back to get something _more_ , but Copia holds him back with his other hand.

“I’ll put it inside you if you answer me,” Copia says quietly, stroking the delicate skin there gently. His finger’s slippery, like he slicked it up when Aether wasn’t paying attention. The need to have Copia inside him briefly subsumes the shame creeping up the back of his neck. He answers him. 

"It... feels good. To hurt,” Aether says, not looking up, feeling like all the blood in his body is fighting over whether to go to his face or his dick. “It feels good when you talk to me like that."

"Like what?" Copia asks casually, rubbing the pad of his finger in a circle, maddeningly slow.

" _Oh_ —Like that. Like you're… pressing on a bruise. Embarrassing me a little."

Copia presses the tip of his finger inside. Aether sags in relief. 

“You like to feel embarrassed. Sometimes.”

“I—yes. It makes— _ah_ ,” Aether pants as Copia slides his finger in all the way, slick and easy. It doesn’t even burn. “It makes it better. To feel… a little bad about it, sometimes.” 

“Does this feel bad?” Copia says, pressing his finger in a little further before sliding it back out, then doing it again. He’s not moving fast enough to really be fucking him with it, but he’s not _not_ doing that, either. 

“ _Oh_ —No,” Aether says, feeling himself push back, then trying to stop himself rather unsuccessfully. Copia’s always trying to see how far he can test his self-restraint. He feels Copia slip in another finger, and oh, that one _does_ burn. “No, _Papa_.” he amends, remembering. “It feels good.” 

So _much_ about all of this feels good, even when it hurts. It's the reverence with which Copia slides a hand up his thigh, or strokes his tail, or presses a thumb to the underside of his cock. The feeling of _accomplishment_ of his body and its power; of blood rushing, urgently and obediently, to fill the shape of Copia’s hand. 

The smack of skin against skin, like sex, almost—but faster, and sharper. Concentrated. More intentional, maybe. 

He must have gone somewhere else for a second, because now Copia’s saying, “Ah ah, you're floating away,” and slipping his fingers out, ignoring Aether’s weak protests. 

Aether steels himself as best he can, and then Copia’s spanking him again, sharp and fast. The last of three lands extra hard, and Aether feels tears prick in his eyes at the same time his cock jumps.

"Ah, _hurts_ ," he hisses, squirming away from Copia's hand, but mostly trying to rub his cock on his lap.

Copia's hand stills for a moment, pulling back, until just his fingertips are touching him there, hot and prickly. "Do you want me to stop?"

“No,” Aether says, waiting for his heartbeat to return to something approaching normal, then reconsiders. "Maybe, actually. Just for a sec.”

“Of course,” Copia says tenderly. Aether feels a hand reach forward to stroke his hair, pushing it away from his damp forehead. He rubs back against it like an animal, nuzzling, feeling the intense, unmooring relief of a gentle touch, so much sweeter against the pain. “Of course. You've been doing so well, Aether. You always take it so well.” 

And that's the thing. It’s not a punishment. It's not about how _bad_ he’s been to deserve this—it’s about how good he is for taking it. 

“Just five more, I think,” Copia says roughly, squeezing his ass. It feels weirdly affectionate, even in this context, like a clap on his shoulder after practice. “Can you handle that? And then your Papa will make you feel good?”

“Yes,” Aether breathes, grateful. “ _Papa_ ,” he adds quickly. 

"I knew you could,” Copia says warmly. He’s scratching around Aether’s horns now, stroking the sensitive skin there in a way makes Aether’s eyes flutter shut. Cirrus buzzed his hair short for him on the sides, but there is still enough on top to have a little to pull on. Copia tugs at it in that way he knows Aether likes until his hips start rocking again.

“Would you like to count them?" Copia asks a few moments later. 

"Yes, Papa,” Aether says, scrubbing at his face, bracing himself a little. This is hovering right on the edge of being too much, but not quite yet.

“Almost done, almost done,” Copia says soothingly, petting the base of his tail. Without any other warning, Aether feels him grab it roughly and angle it out of the way, spanking him hard on his left ass cheek.

“ _Ah!_ I— _one_ ,” Aether says, rather unsteadily. 

Another blow lands, on the right side this time. “Two,” he says, through gritted teeth, trying to rub against Copia’s leg again. 

Copia spanks him again in the same spot. Bastard. The pain feels like double vision, overlapping and burning, like a patchwork quilt of sensation. “Three,” Aether gasps. 

The next one hits him low on the left side. “Four.” Now he’s just grinding into Copia’s thigh. His slacks must be ruined. 

Copia makes him wait for the last one, watching Aether squirm on top of him, trembling, trying to pulse his hips somewhere. But finally, _finally_ , his hand falls, one last stinging smack. 

" _Five_ ," Aether gasps, letting his head fall forward.

“Good,” Copia says, rubbing his sweaty back, soothing and gentle. "So good, Aether. You did so well.”

Aether’s probably supposed to say _Thank you, Papa_ to that, but he just slumps across him, panting, feeling wrung-out and keyed up at the same time. Particle-wave duality.

“I can feel how hard you are," Copia says a little raggedly behind him; Aether can feel him too now, still in his pants and pressing up stiff against him. "Just from rubbing on me. You're not going last much longer, are you?" His hand slides down between Aether’s legs and squeezes him. Aether tenses and groans. 

Sometimes he’ll take him like this, right on the edge of the bed, and Aether will light up with pain all over again like an encore every time he fucks into him. Sometimes he'll be nice and let Aether lie back against the pillows, taking him into the plush heat of his mouth, coaxing him to come, gentle and steady, like scratching a cat under its chin. One time—one time he tipped Aether on his back, pressed him flat with a gloved hand to his chest, and rode him until he begged him to stop. 

This time, Copia eases him off his lap and presses him down gently on the comforter, crawling over him to kiss him, finally. Aether’s hands fist in his shirt, legs parting to make room for him, accommodating, and Copia just keeps kissing him with a mouth that still tastes a little like whiskey. He’s kissing Aether so deep that Aether thinks maybe he could get a contact buzz off it if he wasn’t already feeling so utterly wrecked _._

“Pull your legs back, please.” Copia says when they part, reaching for the lube on the bedside table. 

Aether does, instantly, obediently, grabbing himself behind his knees to get the angle right. He groans against Copia’s mouth as he presses two fingers back inside him, all the way to the second knuckle. 

“Look at you. You're such a mess. You got that close just from me taking you over my lap?” Copia reaches out his free hand, sliding the tip of a finger through the shiny wetness on Aether’s belly. Aether sucks it into his mouth when Copia presses it against his lips. “Could you come from just me inside of you? Nothing but my fingers?"

Aether thinks that maybe he could. Maybe he’s _that_ far gone, that it could be wrenched out of him like that. It’s happened before: his hands clenched tight around the headboard, cock suddenly dripping hot and wet on his belly, as he stared down at himself in disbelief. But he is so desperate, and so hard, and it’s not really a question of _if_ he’s going to touch himself so much as _when_. 

"No," Aether admits, almost apologetically. “I... no, I can't.”

“Ask,” Copia says softly. Seeing Aether squirm a little, he dips forward to kiss him again, wet and hot. Just a little reassurance. “Ask, or you can’t touch.”

Aether squeezes his eyes shut. “Please. Can I use my hand?” 

Aether’s not firing on all cylinders. He realizes after he says it that he’s not being particularly specific, and he’s left the door wide open for more questions. But there must be some mercy in the world, because Copia just pats the side of his face and smiles. 

“Touch yourself.” He speeds up his other hand. “But don’t come before I’m inside you.” 

Aether could cry at the relief of reaching down and finally getting a hand around himself. Copia tips the lube over him until a little drips over his cock, so his strokes are wet and easy. When Copia finally pulls his fingers out, and goes to unbuckle his belt with hands that look like they’re shaking, Aether has to squeeze the base of his dick to not come right then. 

Copia bunches his pants down just far enough around his thighs to free himself. His belt’s half-off, his dress shirt’s hanging loose and wrinkled, and then—oh. Then he’s pressing himself into Aether. He’s not big, but he’s thick, and Aether has to pant and turn his face into the pillow when Copia slides in all the way, one inch at a time.

When Copia touches him like this—when he’s inside him, or hurting him, or stroking him—it starts in his toes and goes all the way into his throat, like Copia’s got a hand squeezed around his whole body wherever he touches him. He plumbs his depths so easily, and Aether just spreads his legs open and lets it happen. If his body is a temple, then Copia’s ransacking it. 

“I wish you could see your face,” Copia says, breathing fast, starting to rock his hips. He leans down so he can hitch Aether’s calf onto his shoulder. “When I’m inside you. Any time I touch you. It’s so—” He has to pause and let his head hang for a moment when Aether clenches around him. “ _Ah_. Oh, Aether. It’s so open. You’re always so open for me.” 

It doesn’t take much longer for either of them. Copia pushes Aether’s legs back until his knees touch his chest, until the angle is so _deep_ and goodthat Aether can’t stop the path that his body’s careening down, like a runaway train.

“Oh, _Papa_ , I’m—” he gasps, and then he’s coming all over his own hand and belly, so hard it pushes the breath out of him. 

Copia groans at the sight, snapping his hips faster. The skin not covered by his clothes or paint is pink and flushed, like even his own body can’t maintain the illusion of composure any more. He’s only a minute behind Aether, pulling out suddenly and coming on his chest with a quiet shudder.

He slumps down next to him. They lie there briefly in silence, panting hard. When he can speak again, Copia pats Aether’s arm clumsily, like he has something important to tell him. 

“I should have come on your ass,” Copia says glumly. “I don’t know what I was thinking. _L'esprit de l'escalier._ ” 

Aether’s still trying to catch his breath, and this makes him laugh so suddenly he coughs a little. Copia has to pass him a glass of water from his bedside table. "You know that’s not what that means,” he says with considerable effort.

“It’s close enough. But please remind me next time.”

“I’ll tie a string on your finger.”

Copia smiles and picks up Aether’s clean hand, kissing his knuckles, then swings his legs off the edge of the bed. “Hold tight. I’ll be right back.”

He’s back a few minutes later, changed into only his boxers. The paint’s scrubbed off, and underneath, he looks pink and clean and a little tired. 

He’s brought a warm, wet cloth with him, and he rubs it on Aether’s belly and between his legs, then has to go grumbling back to the bathroom to get another when Aether lifts his chin to point out a stray spot of come on his neck. Aether takes the opportunity to roll over to the slightly drier side of the bed, sighing happily. It feels like the finger’s lifted off the bruise, and he’s just left with a pleasant memory of soreness, like he went for a long walk and now he gets to enjoy the stretch in his legs. 

“Is this mine or yours?” Copia says when he returns, wiping his neck and face clean. 

“I'm blaming you."

Copia sucks his teeth. “Poor Aether. Look what I put you through.” Copia uses the edge of the sheet to wipe at Aether’s neck, then tucks himself in bed behind Aether. He tosses the cloth in the direction of the hamper. It misses by a rather significant margin.

“I liked it,” Aether says happily, sleepily, letting Copia gather him up in his arms. “I like all the things you do to me.”

“Oh, no. Don’t give me _carte blanche_ like that. It’ll go straight to my head.”

Aether groans. “No more French. Too tired. And your head’s big enough already.”

This catches Copia off guard. He laughs, sharp and surprised, and kisses Aether behind his ear. “I’d threaten to spank you, but I think I already used that line.” From where he’s curled behind Aether, he slides a hand down to cup his ass. “Are you sore?”

“It's not bad. It’ll be gone by tomorrow." He stretches, feeling the fatigue in his body suddenly, like a dropped anchor. “Or I can just heal it.”

“Convenient,” Copia says a little sleepily against his neck. He rests his smooth chin on Aether’s bare shoulder. He smells like mint and expensive shaving cream. Clean, masucline human smells, intimate and familiar. “Will you stay the night with me?”

“I’m half-asleep in your bed.” Aether laughs. “I thought I was already invited.”

“Indulge an old man. I wanted to give you a chance to say no. I figured I already ordered you enough around for tonight.” He brushes his lips to Aether’s temple, then his jaw, until he’s leaning over him and kissing him properly. Aether lets his tail curl happily around Copia’s leg and feels him jump in surprise. 

“You know I’ll never get used to that,” he says, settling back behind him. “Is that a yes?”

“Mmm. Yes.” Aether’s already dozing off. “It’s always a yes for you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> <3 comments and kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
